★★ The grayness and rawness were less unpleasant, themselves, than the obvious fact that they were going to get worse. An ant-line of young men streamed though the turnstiles, dressed in matching black synthetic fleece, with non-English text embroidery. The dread was at last confirmed by big, scattered raindrops, and then little, abundant ones. A hood was enough to stop them, till the wind coming down the block yanked the hood back.
Wednesday, April 30th, 2014
37 Polly Asks: New York Magazine Wants Me to Write Ask Polly For Them. Should I Tell Them to Piss Off?
Jessica Gross and Merve Emre » The Fall of the Humanities and the Tyranny of Recommendation Letters: A Novel and a Chat